


Shaped Like Home

by KingsAndSaints



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Billy helps him, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Living Together, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve can't cook, Steve is a messy bitch, They have a fight as some point, a lot of talk about food and eating, but Billy still loves him, but everything turns out fine, chubby steve, cooking together, mild weight gain, sprinkle of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23045008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingsAndSaints/pseuds/KingsAndSaints
Summary: In which Steve loves food and Billy loves Steve
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 14
Kudos: 142





	Shaped Like Home

“Babe, you’re leaking sauce all over the table,” Billy said as he toyed with the hair in the nape of Steve's neck. Steve glanced down and oh… there was indeed a brown liquid dripping from his burrito, creating a little pool on the coffee table. 

“Ah shit,” he muttered as he dipped his finger into his mouth. “I’ll clean it up.” He immediately proceeded to take another bite. It took him a good few chews before he realized Billy had stopped scratching his head. When he turned around he was met with a scrutinizing glare. 

_“What?”_ Steve said as he continued to munch. His eyes were wide with innocence. “I’ll get it when I’m done.” 

“Steve, _go get a plate_. It’s going to stain.” Billy ordered. Steve gave him a look as if Billy just proposed he hang his own mother.

“Then I have to clean the table _and_ the plate!” Billy arched a brow. Sometimes he was still amazed by the bends Steve would wrestle himself into just so he wouldn't have to move from his spot. Steve’s shoulders slumped. 

“It’s not lazy!” He pouted. “It’s _efficient.”_ Billy shook his head, unable to suppress a smile as he tossed Steve's hair up. 

“Just get a plate.” Steve groaned like a teenager as he picked himself up from the floor. He returned moments later, plate in hand and made sure to oafishly show it off to Billy as if to say ‘are you happy now?’.

Billy his tongue out and grinned. ‘Yes, very.’ 

Steve sat back down in the small space between the couch and the coffee table. His head found its way back into the little nook where Billy’s ankles met in lotus position. Every once in a while, he would take a big bite, almost as if he was trying to get the entire thing in his mouth. His cheeks puffed out with each mouthful as he produced quiet noises of content. He was unusually attentive about it. Sometimes he studied the insides of the tortilla for a while, chewing thoughtfully before redirecting himself at the moving images on the tv. 

Steve was a messy eater. Billy really expected a prep like him to have better table manners but Steve was all about using his hands and unless he was actively paying attention to it, he usually forgot to chew with his mouth closed. It all made a little more sense when Steve told him about the unceremonial dinner traditions at the Harrington residence. 

“You eat your dinner in _10 minutes_?” Billy had gaped at Steve with a look of revulsion. Steve, on the other hand, shrugged as if he’d never known better. 

“Yeah, my dad is always done within 10 minutes. Usually less. And then he’s gone.” Billy had stared with wide eyes. Steve pulled his shoulders all the way up to his ears, now looking a little pressed under Billy’s scrutiny.

“We’re just not really talkers!" His pitch had risen a few notes. "Dinner’s really just about- loading in and then onto the next thing.” Now, it wasn’t as if Billy’s home life had been one big party, but _that_ just sounded incredibly depressing to him.

“Your parents never taught you to _enjoy_ your food?” He asked as he rested one elbow on the table, supporting his chin on his palm. They were in a McDonalds. Steve had already worked through his order in record time - which was how they landed on the topic - and was now picking at Billy's fries. Steve had paused at the question, a frown growing on his face. It had never even occurred to him that enjoying food would be something you had to _teach_ a child. Everyone has taste buds, right? How would you teach flavour? 

“I mean... my mom would tell me when something's expensive." It sounded more like a question than an answer. "Then she told me I had to savour it but... I don't know, I’m pretty sure chocolate is just chocolate.” 

“Okay, but-” Billy blew out a breath as he reclined into the booth. “Did your mom like- cook with you? And show you everything that went into a meal? Did they let you taste test?” Steve went awfully quiet. His eyes were cast down as he dragged his - Billy's - fries through the ketchup for an unholy amount of time. 

“My mom doesn’t cook,” Steve replied timidly, almost _embarrassed_. “We have help who does that.” It wasn’t the first time Steve had gotten shy about how rich his parents actually were. He tended to take it personal when Billy told him about his childhood, how sometimes there was no food in the cabinets and his lunchbox would just empty because they had to push pennies to make rent. Steve knew that he lived a sheltered life, in theory at least. It was only when he got closer to Billy that poverty got a face, that the stories became tangible, that he realized how easy his life had been because he was lucky enough to be born into a family with money, regardless of everything else his home life lacked.

“So… No one ever taught you how to cook either?” Billy asked. Steve shook his head.

“No… I mean I can bake an egg and toast bread," A cheeky smile grew on his lips. "I guess I always assumed I'd find myself a wife who could do the cooking.” Billy cocked his head.

“If you think you can wife me, Harrington, then you’ve got a thing or two coming,” he smirked as he stole his fries back. Steve pushed the ketchup cup back across the table. 

“Well, either you’re okay with cooking or you’re gonna have to get used to a lot of burned pasta because last time I tried I set fire to the pan." Billy stopped chewing.

"How do you set fire to water?" Steve bit his lip.

"Steve," Billy lowered his voice. "Please tell me you added water." 

_"In my defence-"_ Steve piped but Billy shook his head.

"Hm, no!" He grabbed a napkin from the side of the table and wiped the grease off his hands. "No, this is unacceptable. I bet your Italian grandma is rolling around in her grave." Steve pouted.

"She's _alive_ , you know?" Billy laughed.

"Well, lucky you. You still have time to redeem yourself before she starts haunting you for all eternity."

The boys met eyes and chuckled. After a while, Billy had to tap himself on the shoulder and remind himself he couldn't go endless gazing into Steve's puppy eyes in a McDonalds without starting some shit. He kinda wished they were at home so he could just reach other and smother his idiot. Steve seemed to have had the same thought because he glanced away and dipped pack into Billy's fries. Billy pushed them across the table. 

“Alright." He struck his hands down on his thighs, calling Steve's attention back to him. "What’s something you’ve always wanted to make?” Steve furrowed his brow, chewing slowly as a sly grin spread across his face.

“I’ve always wanted to know how to make lasagna?” Billy mirrored Steve's smile.

“Yeah, we can do that! Totally. Next time you're at my place, we're gonna make lasagna.”

Billy’s apartment was small and pretty far removed from the town centre, but it had four walls, a roof and most of the time, it had Steve in it, which was all Billy could ask for. Another plus was that the kitchen had a lot of counter space, something that proved useful once he started to get Steve involved in the cooking. 

Lasagna had been… well, it had been an experience. Steve had certainly enjoyed layering the sheets and the sauce but my goodness he made _such_ a mess. And he didn't clean as he went like Billy usually did. Steve left everything, every vegetable peel and herb shaker on the counter until he at some point he’d find himself helplessly lost in the mess he had made. 

By the time Steve officially moved in Billy would discover that living with Steve was kind of like taking care of a 12-year-old. Steve knew when it was time to shower and he had a basic grasp of most of the things he had to do to keep himself alive - he could make sure they didn't run out of toilet paper and knew how to work a washing machine - but he could _not_ clean up after himself if his life depended on it and if there was a chore that had to be done, Billy usually had to call it to Steve's attention because the guy simply didn’t notice on his own. 

Still, the radioactive wasteland in the kitchen was all worth it when they were sat at the dinner table and Steve practically glowed with pride when he took his first bite of the meal that he’d made. 

“Yeah, good?” Billy had asked to which Steve had nodded, the most wondrous grin wrapped around his stuffed cheeks.

Since that initial success, Billy had started introducing Steve to all sorts of kitchens that the midwestern boy had never even been in contact with. He hadn’t been a big fan of curries.

‘Too wet,’ he’d said as he wiped his mouth. 

Fair enough. Maybe it had been a bit too adventurous for a guy who prefered to eat ketchup with every meal. The first big breakthrough happened when Billy had put a burrito in front of Steve. 

“This is so gooood,” Steve had moaned. “It’s like- It’s all this good stuff but you can _hold it!_ ” Steve had ogled his food as if it held the secret to world peace inside of it. Now, it need be mentioned that Billy had thrown the meal together while they were both experiencing some serious munchies. The altered state of mind might have had some play in Steve’s relentless enthusiasm. 

“Mexicans are amazing!” He had snickered. “I could eat _five_ of these.” 

It was after that bullseye that Steve developed a genuine interest in food and cooking. Thank god. Billy didn’t know if their relationship would have worked out long term had Steve been a functionalist like his father. As both guys had to work full-time jobs, cooking quickly became their primary way of spending time together, Billy behind the cooker, Steve chopping the ingredients. 

“What do we do to spice it up?” Steve asked one night as they were making a creamy salmon pasta. Billy decided to turn the question back on him. 

“I don't know. What do you think, babe?” As Steve got more experienced, Billy had started to test him a little rather than give straight instructions. Steve puckered his cheeks, eyes darting over their excessive herb collection. 

“We already did garlic,” he counted on his fingers. Billy nodded as he checked the pasta water. Because yes, Steve had since been convinced that water was a key ingredient when it came to pasta dishes. Meanwhile, Steve ran his finger over the different shakers. 

“Ermm… thiiis one?” He said as he picked one off the shelf and held it up. Billy leaned in to read the label as he continued to stir the pot. 

“Cumin… hmm, no I’d try something else.” Steve frowned, a little thrown off his game. After a few seconds of undecided silence, Billy reached over again. 

“How about we start with this?” Billy asked as he pulled the cardamom from the shelf. Steve’s eyes lit up.

“Right! That’s the one I meant. I knew it was one of the dusty boys.” That’s what Steve called the ground herbs. Even though no one wants the word ‘dusty’ associated with their food, Billy never corrected him. It made him smile every time. They also added some parsley and chive and gave it a good stir before Billy let Steve have a taste. The boy smacked his lips thoughtfully. 

“Does it need anything else?” Steve pursed his lips. 

“Erm… maybe some lemon to bring out the flavours.”

“Hm, we have a sour cream base so I don’t think we need to add more sour.” 

“But lemon goes well with fish, right?” Well, look at that. He was learning.

“Yeah," Billy said as Steve already walked over to the fridge. "Sure. Let’s give it a try.”

Cooking with Steve reminded Billy of being in the kitchen with his mom, the sound of laughter and old records over billowing scents that grew out of the pots and pans. The kitchen had always been a place of comfort. He'd even shared some good moments with Susan, chatting and helping out while she had been preparing the food. 

The dinner table was sacred for Billy. Back at home, meals were the few moments in the day when all disagreements were put aside. They'd say grace and then they just enjoyed the food and talked as if they were a normal family. It was a small window of peace in the otherwise turbulent days of sharing a roof with his father. The joy of cooking only increased now that he could share that love with someone he actually cared for in a home where a pan on the table was not just a cease-fire but a nice excuse to spend some time talking and messing around. 

But just as Billy had introduced Steve to his customs around food, Steve brought in his own habits. And yes, that did involve heaps ketchup and yes, Billy rolled his eyes every time. But still, that was quite different from the look Billy had given Steve quite the first time he wandered back into the living room at 11 pm with a full plate of food.

“What’s that?” Billy asked as if it wasn’t obviously the pasta they’d put away in the fridge a few hours earlier.

“Second dinner,” Steve replied casually as he took his seat in the armchair. Billy had blinked.

“Come again?” Steve had the decency to swallow before he replied. 

“Second dinner is when you get hungry in the evening so you have more dinner,” he said. "What? You never do that?”

“No?” Billy frowned playfully. “If I was hungry back at home, they'd just tell me I should have eaten more during dinner."

“That’s so weird,” Steve muttered around a mouthful of pasta. “My mom always said she would rather have me eat another plate of food than cracked open a bag of chips.” 

Steve really hadn’t been kidding when he said he had a _big_ appetite. It seemed like one of those things everyone says, something everyone feels self-conscious about. But Steve wasn’t playing. He could genuinely eat _a lot_ and somehow maintained the build of a swimmer. It was definitely odd, to see heaps of food disappear into his mouth and somehow he never gained a pound. Although Billy liked to believe that Steve was just a big fan of his cooking, Steve had told him that he had been like that ever since he was a child and continued on throughout high school. He just got lucky with his metabolism, as he said himself. Not only could he eat a lot, he also digested it in record time, as was exemplified by him sometimes craving a third serving later in the evening.  
It took some getting used to for Billy, that he seemed to live with the personification of a bottomless pit. Steve ate fast, a lot, and when he was done he usually wanted a nap. A little after dinner, his eyes got droopy and he crashed on the couch for 30 minutes or so.  
  
It only took one look at his sleeping boyfriend for Billy to accept that he would be the one cleaning the table, that day and probably every single one that came after. Steve lay peacefully with his endless legs dangling off the armrest of their tiny couch, a hand on his stomach and a sedated smile.

This little routine seemed to work for him. He seemed happy. This was Steve’s normal so who was Billy to tell him otherwise. 

It was hard to say when things started changing. It was probably long before either of them noticed, but very gradually Steve’s body started changing. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he no longer had basketball training three times a week. It might have been the change in diet when he moved out or maybe it was just some shift in his metabolism as he'd hit the end of his growth. It happened slowly, but over the nine months of them living together, Steve had grown a bit of a food baby. It was not a dramatic change by any means. He'd just gotten a little softer, all over. The weight spread out pretty evenly but after a while, his face seemed fuller and his belly button sat a little deeper than it used to. 

Billy didn’t mind. If anything, he liked the extra chub. The little tummy looked good on Steve. It was as if his boyish figure was slowly making way for his man-body, a more grounded version of himself. His jawline had changed, broadened a little bit. His cheeks had a nice blush to them that only used to appear after a few glasses of wine. He even had a little bit over chub spilling out over his waistband at his hips. Billy loved nothing more than to sneak his hands under Steve's shirt and dig his fingers into the venus dimples on the small of his back and squeeze Steve's hips in passing. Most of the time the playful affection was met with a swat, a furrowed brow and a flustered ‘Billy, come on’ or ‘stop it’. 

Steve did mind. He never said so out loud but it was evident in the way he carried himself that he wasn’t feeling too hot about the changes.

“I’m getting fat,” Steve said one night as they were sprawled on the couch. Steve lay on his back with his head in Billy’s lap, tv buzzing in the background. Billy had been trying to get Steve to watch the Lord of The Rings trilogy for ages now but so far he'd always dozed off and woken up 20 minutes later with no idea of what was going on. 

“Says who?” asked Billy as he dug his fingers through Steve’s hair. They'd barely gotten started and Steve’s eyes were already drooping.

“My jeans…” he grumbled. Billy glanced down at where Steve’s tummy was pushed up against his waistband.

“You just had a whole pizza. Just unbutton them.” 

“Hmm, no…” Steve sighed. He paused for a few beats before he added, “This is my punishment for being fat.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Stop being such a baby,” he said. Steve replied with a _particularly_ whiny squirm as he settled his head more comfortably into the dip between Billy's thighs. A few second passed before Steve let out another sound of discomfort.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” Billy teased, already reaching over.

“No- Billy!” Steve protested, but Billy had already popped the button. Steve glared at him as if Billy had just insulted his first born.

“Better?” Billy asked sweetly.

“No,” Steve pouted. “I’m still fat.”

“Hm, really? Let me check.” Billy mumbled cheekily as he pulled Steve’s sweater up and took a peak underneath. 

“Biillyy!” He put his hand on Steve's tummy and _shook,_ jiggling the fat there.

"Billy _stop!_ " The distress in Steve's voice sounded genuine enough for Billy to know to quit the teasing. Still, he didn't take his hand away. He spread his finger and let it lay there. The skin was soft and _warm_. Steve was practically a little radiator. There was no use in denying that Steve’s midsection had grown a bit since high school. Especially after a big meal life this, his belly appeared a tad swollen.

“This seems like a happy full tummy,” Billy mused as he moving his fingers around, more gently this time. 

“It’s full of _regret._ ” Steve huffed bitterly. Billy laughed and picked up one of Steve’s hands and lifted it up to his lips.

“Then why’d you eat so much, you idiot?” He said as he pressed a kiss to it. Something about the moment gave him the fuzzies.

“I don’t know… I was doing fine at six slices. Then by eight, I started to feel a bit full but I still wanted more pizza. Then at nine, I was _pretty_ full and then I think I blacked out for the last three. I don't know what happened.” Billy laughed as he continued to rub a hand over Steve’s protesting belly. He moved onto his knuckles, drawing careful circles around Steve’s navel, going clockwise, then counter-clockwise, adding a light pressure as he did so. Steve let out a delighted umph, eyes fluttering shut once more as he rested his cheek against Billy’s stomach. 

“What are you doing?” He muttered after a while. Neither of them was paying much attention to the movie anymore. 

“My mom said she used to do this when I was having cramps as a baby.” Billy smiled lovingly. Steve lifted his head to glance down at Billy’s hand. 

“I look like I’m _having_ a baby.” Billy let out another deep belly laugh. Steve was being dramatic, as always. So what if he was a little bloated. If anything, it was nice to know that his boyfriend didn't _actually_ have a wormhole in his stomach.

“ _Ah, shit_.” Billy chuckled. “It’s not mine, is it?” 

“It is,” Steve replied solemnly. “We’re having a Billy junior.”

“So it’s a boy then?” There was a short pause before Steve replied:

“No, it’s a girl. I’m actually naming her after Billy Holiday.” Billy scoffed.

“I don’t even get a say in what we name our kid?”

“No? My body, my rules.” Billy sighed, long and content. 

“Sounds fair.” 

He continued to draw little patterns on Steve’s tummy as the boy slowly relaxed under his touch, the clanging of swords on the tv as their backdrop. At some point, Billy lay his hand flat where he felt the soft rise and fall of Steve’s breath. His eyes had fallen shut, his breathing even, his weight fully gifted to the couch and Billy’s thighs. 

[[lvr boy - awfultune]](https://youtu.be/8YPLLR7aXiI)

Billy looked down at the relaxed face of his sleeping boyfriend, the pink parted lips and the rosy cheeks. Something warm spread through Billy’s chest. There was something so domestic about staying in and having Steve slip away while Billy was rubbing his belly, the softest part of him, the place where ribs did not protect. And Steve allowed all of it with such blind trust and vulnerability. Billy lifted his other hand to Steve’s cheek and traced every freckle, the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips. 

This was his Steve, the side of him that only he got to see. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.   
  
Loving Steve had been so much easier than he anticipated. He expected their respective flaws to become insufferable within the first weeks of them living together. But rather he found that all those annoying little things Steve did, how he never reused his cups, how he always sung bad pop-music in the shower and threw his coat down wherever he took it off, those quickly became the moments Billy felt a surge of love well up in his stomach. Because those things were just Steve trying his best. It was a kind of trust they had build together, that they were both doing the most they could deliver and they had silently agreed that that should always be enough. Steve might not be the perfect lover, but Billy still found ways to adore every way in which he wasn't.

Even so, Steve’s body wasn’t the only things that changed about him. He’d definitely become more considerate since they started dating, more willing to compromise, something he’d never had to do at home. And in turn, he’d helped Billy become less impulsive, better able to cope with his anger when he was on the verge of boiling over.   
  


They had changed so much since they had come together, in all the best ways. Lying there with Steve, Billy realized just how far they’d come. How he thought he’d never make it to a point where he was independent, in love, _happy_. And yet here they were. For the first time in his life, he was looking forward to the future, eager to see how all the ways they would change and grow because of each other. He found himself hoping that this, this moment right here was only the beginning.

Just as he was brushing over Steve’s eyebrows, the boy uttered through lazy lips. 

“I should start running again.”

The words gave a violent tug at Billy's heart. Because Steve said them as if this moment wasn’t already perfect. As it would have been improved if he was more toned. As if Billy would like him more if he took up a little less space. Billy felt a pang of guilt at the thought that maybe he hadn’t been doing his job as well as should, reminding Steve of how loved and wanted he was and that this thing they had went so much deeper than skin.

“You don’t _have_ to do anything. I like you just like this.” He said as he continued to caress Steve’s cheeks. Steve managed to pull off a scowl without even having to open his eyes.

“You like having a lazy sack of lard for a boyfriend?”

“If you’re talking about this one, then yeah, I love lard.” If he could bend down that far, he would kiss him, absolutely smother Steve senseless. 

What he thought but didn’t say was that he liked the give in Steve’s upper arm whenever Steve was the big spoon and Billy got to use his bicep as a pillow. He loved how it felt to wrap his arms around Steve’s chest from behind and when Steve’s thigh was sandwiched between his while they were cuddling up in bed. He loved having his head between those thighs. And Steve’s ass- that one did not require an explanation. It spoke for itself. 

Whatever shape Steve was, was the shape of home. Steve’s body felt like home. The fact that they were noticing its changing was just a testament to the years they had spend together. Billy didn’t know how to say any of that out loud. Words seemed to fail when he tried to let Steve know how important he was.

“But would you like the sack of lard better if it had abs?” Steve muttered, brows rising as his eyes remained shut.

“You have abs,” Billy replied as he gave Steve’s tummy another squeeze. “Yours just have a winter coat.” 

“Very funny. Mean abs like you have. I want those.” Billy scrunched his nose. He didn't know why but that didn't do anything for him. He liked them on himself but Steve was just different. He liked Steve's softness. But still... if Steve wanted to be more lean, who was Billy to hold him back? 

“You can tag along with me to the gym if you want,” Billy suggested. “I could show you around, get you a schedule. There are a few dickheads, but they mostly keep to themselves.” Steve pulled a face. 

“No… no, I hate working out.” He sighed deep and long and said: “I just need to shut my food hole.” He swallowed before he added: “I don’t understand how you can be full and just… stop eating…” 

“I don’t know. When I’m full I just don’t want to eat anymore.”

“Wow…” Steve sighed. “Can’t relate.” 

“Why the hell do you keep eating?” Steve let out another exasperated sigh.

“Because it’s _fun._ Food is _fun._ It’s like wanting to stay up when you’re already tired. Staying up is just more fun.”

“Maybe you could eat slower and make it last.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

And Steve tried. He really did. During every meal, his eyes were zeroed in on Billy’s movements, trying to match his rhythm so they’d finish roughly at the same time. He didn’t go for seconds. Second dinner itself was scrapped altogether. 

A week later Billy found some forgotten leftovers that had come to life which was a first for them. It had been a long time since Billy even thought about the scraps because Steve would always take care of them. 

Later that same day Billy nearly froze in his tracks as he carried some cups and spoons into the kitchen. Steve was at the sink, tap running, _doing the dishes_. This was not a miracle in and of itself, Steve knew how to wash up, but it was definitely unusual for the time of day. Steve felt the eyes on his back and looked over his shoulders. 

“What?” He asked. “Am I doing it wrong?” Billy blinked and came back to life.

“No, it’s just… you’re usually napping around this time.” Billy added a few mugs to the pile of dirty dishes and grabbed a tea towel. Steve’s frown deepened.

“Oh come on, it’s not like I never help you clean up,” Steve protested which pulled a deep laugh out of Billy.

“It kind of is,” he smirked. “But it’s fine.” He leaned in to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek, surprised when he missed. Steve had jerked away. His eyes were big and dark, hurt almost.

“If you feel like I’m not pulling my weight why don't you just tell me? Why are you only saying this now?” A wave of cold washed over Billy. 

“I never said that,” He whispered, eyes darting all over Steve’s face. “Babe, I just said it’s _fine._ You do the laundry, I take care of the dishes. It’s no big deal.” 

Steve blinked. He took a sharp breath, almost as if he was just waking up.

“Right…” he uttered under his breath as he squinted his eyes. He reached over to close the tap and froze for a moment, one hand on the counter, eyes distant. “Sorry… I’ve just been stressed I think.” He looked tired.

“Why don’t you go lay down,” Billy said as he carefully stroked his hand over Steve’s arm. Steve didn’t shy away from the touch but he didn’t respond to it either.

“No, it’s fine. I’m good.” He whispered while he picked up a saucepan and turned the tap back on. Billy slowly got started on drying off the piled of washed goods all while keeping a close eye on Steve's movements. 

“Steve,” he said after a moment or two. Steve hummed without looking up. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Steve grumbled as he continued to attack the saucepan with a scourer.

“Okay,” Billy nodded, unconvinced. “Thanks for doing the dishes.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Sure, it was nice that Steve was helping out. The thing was… it was very easy to tell that Steve was mostly doing it to distract himself from the fact that he was still hungry. It showed in the hollow look in his eyes. This diet thing he was doing made him cranky and tired, which in turn made him snappy.

He’d always apologized as soon as he saw the startled look on Billy’s face. If anything, Billy felt kind of bad for how he reacted when Steve got curt. It was not as if Steve was yelling at him or gave him any reason to believe that he didn't like him or that Billy himself would be physically unsafe because of Steve's moods. He was just a little irritable, that was all. Really, Billy was silly for getting as worked up about it as he did. But the fact of the matter was that in a very sick and twisted way, Steve reminded Billy of his father when he got like this. It had been so long since he had felt that crawling feeling under his skin that he’d forgotten how he used to deal with it, how he had to sit in it, unable to walk away from the crawling feeling. It brought back some visitors from the past. And for the first time Billy could remember, he started to resent the hour Steve would be coming home. 

After two miserable weeks, Billy put his foot down.  
He threw another tortilla on both their plates after they’d finished his first and was met with a frown. Billy breathed through his nose, trying to ignore how his heart rate was already rising in his throat. 

_It’s fine. It’s just Steve._

“I said I was done,” Steve stated blandly. Billy kept his eyes down as he sat back in his seat. 

“And you’re a big fat liar.” Poor choice of words, he realized as soon as he said it. When he finally dared to look up, Steve was still throwing glares at his plate. It took a while before he finally pushed it away.

“No, thanks,” he said and gave Billy a nod. “But you go ahead.” He waited. Billy didn’t move. It didn’t seem like an option. 

“ _What?”_ Steve snapped. Billy flinched.

“I’m not _starving_ myself! I _just_ ate! I’m just cutting down. _Jeez.”_ He pushed his hands through his hair, front to back and held it at the ends. 

“Why can you just be supportive?” Steve actually sounded _hurt._ But he wasn’t the only one that was hurting. 

“S’just that the Steve who ate whatever he wanted was a lot more fun to be around…” Billy sputtered. He paused, chin to his neck and added in a whispered tone:

“and he was also a lot better in bed.” 

He sort of hoped Steve hadn’t heard that last bit. He didn't even know why he said it. It was unnecessarily hurtful and he knew it.

Billy was too afraid to look up. The silence that followed was worse than anything before. When he finally did look there was thunder behind Steve’s eyes. In his head, Billy could already hear the breaking of ceramics as the table was swept and he felt the air knock out of his lungs as he was slammed into the neared wall by his throat. His ears were ringing, eyes glazed over as he waited for the violence to commence.

But Steve stayed put. Which might have been worse actually. Billy felt his entire skin burning, begging for it to be over already, for the tension to be resolved.

“Wow,” Steve whispered hoarsely. “I don’t care if you just did that to be mean or if you actually meant it but either way you’re an asshole.” He got up and stalked off into the hallway. Two minutes later the door fell shut. 

At some point, Billy realized that Steve hadn’t just gone out for a smoke. He got up and cleared the table. A dull silence throbbed through the apartment, like the slowest drumroll awaiting Steve’s return. It was agonizing. Billy was putting the leftovers away, about an hour later, when he heard the door open again.   
By the time Billy re-emerged from the kitchen, Steve had planted himself in a dark corner of the living room, television on the softest setting, eyes puffed and distant. 

They didn’t say a word to each other for the rest of the evening.

“Hey,” Billy rapped his knuckles twice against the wall. His voice was unusually quiet. “Are you coming to bed?” It was about 12 pm. He had already done his nighttime routine and changed into his pyjamas. Steve still hadn’t moved from his spot. He looked up. The only light came from the television, casting him in a soft blueish glow.

“I don’t know,” he quipped. “A little birdy told me I’m not doing my best work there as of late so maybe I should stick to the couch.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” Billy breathed. He had his arms wrapped around himself, leaning against the wall. His skin felt like it might rip if he let go of himself. Steve exhaled through his nose, long and slow. He didn’t look away.

“Well, so am I.” He sighed at last. “I kind of had a feeling that I was… underperforming.” There was a second pause before he added. "And not just in bed. I know I've been short-tempered and you shouldn't have to put up with that. I'm sorry."

Billy had to bite his lip. Honestly, he didn’t even care about the sex. Sure, it was more fun when Steve had more energy, but more than anything, he wanted his dumb bubbly boyfriend back. This was too much. Not knowing when Steve was going to lash out was hell.

“Billy?” The realisation grew on Steve that this was not about some petty fight, that there was something bigger going on. 

Billy’s face finally cracked. He leaned further into the wall, shrinking into himself.   
He didn’t dare to speak. He’d _never_ been scared to talk to Steve. He forced a deep breath in as Steve got out of his chair and tried not to stiffen up when Steve walked up to him.

_It’s just Steve. He’s not going to hurt you. He’s going to make it better. He’s not your dad. He’s not your dad._

His breathing only became more laboured. Steve’s movements were slow and willful. 

“Billy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was this bad. I’m _so sorry_. Can you please talk to me?” He wanted to. He did. But every time he opened his mouth a new wave of fear washed over him and he couldn’t produce anything more than a squeak.   
“Can I hold you?” Steve asked. Billy hesitated but nodded.

_It's okay. He's going to make it better._

He still shuddered when Steve wrapped his arms around him. 

_He’s not going to hurt you._ He kept repeating to himself. _This is Steve, he’s not going to hurt you._

The first sobs passed his lips while Steve squeezed him into his chest. Billy didn’t even know that there had been so much tension building inside him until it all came pouring out, until everything was released and he was feeling way too much all at once. His body was shaking as if he was standing in a 10 degree cold. If it hadn’t been for Steve he didn’t know whether he would have been able to keep himself upright. But Steve’s arms were strong. And Steve was warm. He was real. 

Steve managed to help Billy over to the couch and onto his lap. He still felt that crawling feeling, the one that told him to get up and run away. He was heaving, eyes wide and frantic. 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Steve whispered hoarsely as he rubbed his hands over Billy’s thighs. “I’m so sorry if I did this.” 

_It’s not your fault_ , Billy thought on a long shaky exhale. _This is not about you._

A sigh of relief escaped him when Steve’s hands wrapped around his cheeks, supporting his jaw. Billy’s eyes fell shut. It was incredible how much lighter he felt because of that simple touch. He let his shoulders drop, slowly leaned into Steve’s hold until Steve was supporting the entire weight of Billy’s upper body in his hands. 

This was something they used to do back when Billy was going through trauma therapy and was frequently experiencing flashbacks. He would sit with Steve’s lap sandwiched between his own thighs and Steve would carry him. It was an exercise for Billy to relax every muscle and give the whole weight of the world over to someone else for a little while. 

The itchy feeling gradually reduced to a faint hum as Billy’s sobs grew farther and farther apart. Steve softly swayed Billy from side to side as he calmed himself down until his tears had dried and his lips hung loose.

“That’s it,” Steve whispered sweetly as he kissed the stains from off Billy’s cheeks.   
Billy could fall asleep like this. After all that build-up of the past few days and this bout of crying, he was bone tired and ready to crash. Steve pressed another kiss to Billy’s nose.

“Can you talk to me? Please?” Billy hiccuped when he thought up the words. He knew it would hurt Steve, which made it that much harder.

“It just, erm... it’s just hard when you’re so moody all the time. I just feel like I’ve been walking on eggshells around you…” Steve rested his forehead against Billy's, shaking silently. They sat like that for a little while before Steve pulled back and sniffed.

“I’m so sorry,” he blubbered and pressed a kiss to Billy’s forehead. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’ve been such an asshole.” Billy chuckled wetly and lifted one hand to touch Steve’s wrist, where it was still holding up Billy’s head. 

“ _God_ , I hate that I made you feel this way. I should have noticed. I’ve been so in my head.”

Billy realized that the echoes were gone. That when Steve spoke, it was only Steve left.

“It’s okay,” Billy said, a whisper so quiet it was barely loud enough to hear. “It wasn’t all you.” He exhaled deeply.  
“I’ve been having some unwanted visitors.” 

That’s what they called them, the memories, the nightmares. Figures from the past.

Billy lifted his head to let Steve know he could let go. He nuzzled into the crane of his boyfriend's neck, to the warm, familiar scent of his skin. For a while, he only listened to the sound of his own breathing, felt the low and steady thumping of Steve’s heart against his cheek. A firm shoulder to lean on. The weight of those arms sneaked around Billy’s back and _yes_ , this was good. This was what he’d been missing. 

Security.  
Maybe that was the right name for this feeling, the same thing he'd felt that other night on the couch with Steve. It was something neither of them had brought in when they moved into this space. They had to invent it themselves, find it in each other. 

Because this was home, Steve was home, whatever shape he came in.

“I guess diet is suspended then?” Steve said after a little while. Billy blubbered out a laugh and crawled deeper into Steve’s space.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “I’d _much_ rather have you soft and happy than buff and grumpy.” 

“Okay,” Steve whispered back as he continued to draw patterns on Billy’s back. He let out a sigh that seemed to come from the very core of his being, as if he was letting go of a breath he had been holding for weeks. 

"I'm kind of relieved," He admitted. "I was _so_ close to giving up tonight. I felt like I was going mad. "

"Then why'd you keep at it? You seemed miserable the whole time," Billy muttered into Steve's shoulder. He felt Steve's chest shake as he chuckled. 

"Pff, I guess I hoped that I could re-train my hunger kinda like a dog that keeps begging at the dinner table. Hoped that if I ignored it, it would go away."

"And? Did it?" 

"Sometimes, yeah." He exhaled slowly. "Then as soon as I ate I felt like I was starving and I'd be even hungrier than before the meal." Billy frowned into his boyfriend's shoulder.

"What the hell, Steve, that can't be healthy."

"I know..." Steve sighed as his hand settled on Billy's back. "I don't understand it. I always thought I was just someone who ate because they're bored but... it wasn't like I missed having snacks. It was an actual- 'I _need_ food in my stomach or else I'm going to _die'_ -kind of hunger."

"Steve, what the fuck!" Billy's frown deepened. He pulled back to see the look Steve in the eye. "Why the hell did you keep going?"

"But that's that thing!" Steve protested. "I wasn't doing anything weird! I was just trying to stick to three meals a day and eat a reasonable amount like a _normal_ person."

"Yeah, but you don't eat like a normal person. So what? I don't care!" Billy waited for Steve's rebuttal, but his face stayed still and mournful.

"I don't know," He uttered under his breath, eyes cast down. "I think there might be something wrong with my head."

"Well, _that much_ we already knew," Billy replied. Steve managed a soft chuckle.

"No, but seriously, I don't think it's normal to be so hungry all the time." He chewed his lip, eyes unseeing. "Maybe I have some sort of disease... Maybe I have a tapeworm."

"If you had a tapeworm you'd be losing weight, babe."

"Oh. Well in that case maybe I should get one." Billy snorted. This was the Steve he knew and loved.

"Or..." Billy whispered as he leaned in to peck Steve's lips. That seemed to get his attention. "Or maybe you should listen to your body when it tells you it needs food, hm? Your body needs fuel." Steve huffed. 

"Clearly that's not the problem." He lifted his shirt to reveal his pudgy belly. When he was seated, his bellybutton was swallowed up in a flat line. "I think I'm all set." He said as he jabbed a mean finger into the flesh, scowling at the way his body jiggled. 

"Hey!" Billy caught Steve's hand and shot him a pointed look. "I think that belly's been through enough these past few weeks. Plus, I _really_ like your body, you know that right? I would have you right here right now." Steve pouted but nodded. 

"Yeah, I know," but it didn't sound all that enthusiastic.

"So what's the problem then?" Steve let out a long dwindling sigh, face scrunched up as if he was still contemplating what he was going to say.

"It's just weird. I don't understand why I'm suddenly gaining weight when it doesn't feel like I'm _doing_ anything different and it all feels very weird and out of my control and I don't like it," He pouted. "And I guess I'm worried that I'm just gonna keep getting fatter until I pop."

Billy didn't really have an answer to that. This wasn't sometimes he could fix for Steve. He couldn't magically force him to accept the changes, neither could he promise Steve that he wasn't going to gain any more weight. He didn't see Steve becoming seriously overweight with his current habits, but what did he know? Maybe he would. Or maybe he'd reached some plateau and this was the weight his body wanted to be right now. The only thing he did know was that what Steve was doing right now was not sustainable.

"I don't think you need to be worried. Lots of people gain a few pounds in their twenties."

"You didn't." Steve sassed.

"How do you know?" There were a few beats of silence.

"I would have noticed," Steve seemed rather sure of himself. 

"I gained eight pounds since we moved in," Billy said. Steve didn't seem to believe it at first. He blinked at Billy as if he expected him to say ‘psych’. 

"Okay, but that's all muscle." He decided at last. Billy pursed his lips.

"Some, but not all I think." He rolled the sleeve of his shirt up to his shoulder. He lifted his arm, bicep bulging up but rather than show off his guns, he carefully pinched a bit of loose skin under his upper arm. "My arm does this now," He squeezed it a few times before he lowered his arm again. "I don't think that used to be there." Steve hummed thoughtfully eyes still glued to Billy's bicep that looked exactly like it always had. 

"So... what you're saying is we should get tapeworms together?" Billy burst out laughing and pressed a warm kiss to Steve's lips that might have lingered a little longer than intended. 

“What I'm trying - to get to -” It was hard to get a word in when Steve was very insistent about keeping their lips together. "- is that I'm ready to drop - so I wanna go to bed - but first we gotta make sure you don't go to sleep hungry, so-" He sucked in a deep breath as they pulled apart, puffy lips stretched into a sly grin.

"How does second dinner sound?"

Rather than his mouth, it was Steve's stomach that answered the question with an approving growl. They both burst out laughing. Steve ducked his head, flushing bright red with embarrassment. When he glanced back up his big cheeks were stretched out into a misty smile.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

That’s how they ended up in front of another screening of The Two Towers at 1 am on a Tuesday night, Billy on the couch, Steve at his feet working his way down a late-night snack. 

It was nice to see Steve enjoy a meal in peace again, no urgency, no stress about whether or not he would be satiated by his serving. No need for embarrassment if he wasn't. He had reached the bottom of his burrito and- let’s just say that Billy was glad he ordered Steve to get a plate. It was absolutely falling apart, drained in sauce and melted cheese. Steve kept trying to take bites, glaring like a child when half of it fell out over his hands. He kept licking his fingers only to be offended once again when the same thing happened with the next bite.

“Let me get that,” Billy grinned impishly as he reached for Steve’s hand. The boy smiled as his felt digits disappeared in Billy’s wet mouth on by one. Billy made sure to produce some suggestive sounds while Steve kept his eyes on the telly. Steve smirked as he popped the last bit of tortilla in his mouth and lifted his other hand for inspection. 

“Wanna get this one as well?” He said with a full mouth.

Billy happily obliged.


End file.
